Life Imitates Art
by ramoneslover
Summary: RPF. Ed/Leighton. She’s always diplomatic, always showers him with compliments and reminds the public that they’re fictional. They live behind the lens of a well handled camera. In the pages of a pre-planned script.


**Life Imitates Art** by Rena  
PG, I don't own Gossip Girl, Ed or Leighton or anything else. This is just for fun.  
Pairing: Ed/Leighton (RPF)  
Preview: She's always diplomatic, always showers him with compliments and reminds the public that they're fictional. They live behind the lens of a well handled camera. In the pages of a pre-planned script.

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"_**Actually, you have to be a little bit in love with your leading man and vice versa. If you're going to portray love, you have to feel it. You can't do it any other way. But you don't carry it beyond the set." ~ Audrey Hepburn**_ (and then she married Mel Ferrer)_**  
**_

The dynamic changes one day during filming. It's going like any other day when something just… _changes_ and they can't really put their finger on it to determine what it is. Maybe it's the fact that Chuck and Blair and their messy storyline is becoming more and more intimate and soul-searching. But something differs when they stare at one another and when they hold on to each other.

The moment the directors yell 'cut' the hands are dropped as if scorched. When before they used to linger and laugh a bit and ask the plans for the coming night… now they turn sharply and walk their separate ways.

They don't talk about it, they don't address it, they won't even acknowledge it. But it's there. That strange thing that has possessed their portrayals of the young lovers. If people notice it they don't comment they pretend, like them, that it's not real. They have, after all, significant others. That are at close proximity and are of good nature.

She gets asked what she feels about the couple she's portraying. She's always diplomatic, always showers him with compliments and reminds the public that they're fictional. They live behind the lens of a well handled camera. In the pages of a pre-planned script.

He gets asked his thoughts and he's always devious and grainy in his responses. She watches him as he shyly ducks his head and avoids eye contact. His eyes are deadly, any woman ever in the receiving end has little hope of surviving. She's one of the few. Because they're just acting.

"Are you two on the outs?" her favorite first AD asks her.

"Who?" she asks though she knows very well whom the woman is referring to.

"You and Ed. You used to joke around and have a laugh," she says, pushing her sleeves up.

"No, of course not. It's just that are scenes are so stressful," she lies and she lies well. She'll call it acting.

He gets it from his end too, the probing and the questioning. He might be better at denial than she is.

"You seem so tense lately," his ascot is being fixed to perfection by the costume supervisor. Chuck is his pet project and he's not allowed on scene until he's the perfect straight gay man. "And what is going on between you and Leight?"

He barely blinks but his hands – his hands definitely feel sweaty and he wishes it was one of those rare days when Chuck is allowed to walk around without anything around his neck. Rare days.

"What do you mean?" he asks. Fuck, he needs a cigarette.

"I don't know… you both seem tense," he finishes the ascot with a smile. Perfection.

"No, of course everything is fine. We've just got stressful scenes to play out. We have to concentrate," he says and grabs the hat that goes with his outfit.

It's wise to keep the distance, especially when you spend your days in love with someone and go home with someone else. You have to shake it off, pull it off your skin so it doesn't linger. When Chuck fights with Blair he feels like fighting with the world. It's a push and a pull and it's overwhelming and he's too tired to make love to his girlfriend sometimes. Good thing she's content with a cuddle and a 'I'm tired'.

Her boyfriend is suddenly busy and he's no longer waiting at home for her. He's out and about and she enters the apartment one night and she's not sure if she's Blair or if she's Leighton because her character has become emotionally draining.

It's that night when she calls him thought she knows she shouldn't because he's probably asleep as she dials the numbers, cuddled next to her good friend.

"Hey, you ok?" his voice is deep in the line and she feels like pressing her forehead to an ice cube.

She most likely woke him. The clock on the microwave says it's 1:14am.

"Yeah… I'm fine…" her voice is hallow and she's so very confused with life.

"You need me to come over?" he asks. He's come over before. At times she has felt she can't get him out of the apartment but most of the time she laughs at his drunken antics and how British he becomes the more beer he has.

But lately… they've lost the friendship string and she wants to blame it on Chuck and Blair. As they destroy one another they're destroying Ed and Leighton.

"No. Of course not… I just… never mind, go back to bed. Say hello to –"

"She's not here." He cuts her off and she feels her heart beat erratically because she can see the words forming before they've been contemplated and she knows they're embarking into a dark and sordid territory.

"Neither is –"

"I'm coming over."

And the line is dead. She's breathing harshly and she feels the room spinning. She's not this girl, she's just not her.

She's a woman who likes lines. Lines shouldn't be crossed. Lines are for acting. Where are the cameras?

She runs around like a madwoman and changes her panties, makes sure her breath is fresh and her hair is semi-fluffed. She yanks the sheets from the bed because they smell of her man, her real man not the camera man that is coming to claim her.

He can't believe he is doing this. He's not this – he's not this person. He's a good man, a man with morals and lines and he doesn't cross certain ones. Not when he cares for others but it's getting harder and harder to let her go after the yelling of the 'cut' because she's becoming more and more his.

Chuck is becoming harder and harder to pull off his skin and this night he wanted solace so he dropped off his girlfriend at her place and went home to attempt sleep.

His palms are sweating when the cab pulls up to her place and he feels he's rushing out.

What are they doing? What is happening? This is out of control, they have no control.

The moment he steps out of the elevator and knocks on her door and there she is. In jeans and a sweater and looking so fresh and ready that he can't stop himself. Because she is his.

She belongs to him and to no one else.

So they're possessed, they're two possessed people who hungrily grasp at one another. He pushes her up against a wall and their mouths are clashing and it's all familiar and new. They've done it a hundred times but this run is real and it's true.

And her moaning is melodic in his ears and he has to push the world away before it drowns him in.

His arms are secure and strong around her and she's letting herself go or perhaps letting herself be invaded by the same darkness that she's pushed away for so long.

Her hands are buried in his hair and his hands are grasping at her thighs and they're doing all that Chuck and Blair would do if a director wasn't yelling cut. There is no cut.

"God, I want you," he's whispering against her and she's past words or statements. No quips or smirk-inducing statements. Just breathing. Just breathe.

"Bed, the bed –" it's all she can manage because she desperately wants him out of those jeans.

They're stumbling and groping, like manic horny teenagers. He picks her up by her hips and her legs encase him in her and they're falling on the bed. The bed with the clean sheets.

And that's when her phone goes off. They stumble away from one another and her voicemail picks up the call. The room is semi dark and they're breathing harshly and staring at one another.

The magic is gone and now they're left in pieces. Two pieces.

She buries her face in her hands. "Oh god…"

They almost did it. Almost, almost, almost.

He studies her and shame fills him. He lost control. She made him lose complete and utter control. When she looks back at him they realize they're no longer possessed. They're just Ed and Leighton and they almost did it. Almost hurt those they care about, almost ruined everything.

He zips up his pants, his cheeks are pink and shameful.

She pulls her sweater back on and they refuse to look at one another. The big question in the air is the fact that tomorrow morning at 9am they're back in each other's arms.

And now, without him controlling his actions, he's kneeling before her and he's pulling her in. She easily wraps her arms around him and they hold one another there for a minute. Because come morning or come night they still belong to each other.

They pull back and look at one another and her hand goes to his hair, pushing it back because it's always a disaster and she likes it that way.

He closes his eyes and stands slowly and he feels like they've done this before. Being someone else. Loving someone else. Or someone more or less like her. He kisses her forehead and she gasps softly, holding on to his shoulders.

"I'll see you tomorrow," and he's walking out though his mind wants to run away with her. Because she's his. She belongs to him.

She curls up on the bed, the fresh bed with fresh sheets and stares at the clock.

It's 3:53 am before her boyfriend gets home and finds her wide awake. He wants sex. He smells like Chambord and blunts.

"I'm tired," and she turns away from him. He's asleep before he's able to remove his socks.

Her phone beeps and she's got a text from _him_. She quickly reads it.

_**R U with him Rt now?**_

She looks over her shoulder. The man in her bed is snoring. She's supposed to love the man in her bed.

She wonders when life began to imitate their art.

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The end


End file.
